white moths

suddenly my arms do not want to lift

they refuse to wave to anyone

they refuse to raise in joyful salute

they refuse to swing in dance

my joy

my movements

my freedom

cocooned in the pits of my arms

yet i never forget the feeling

of flying with arms open wide

i can and will not forget

because the wings,

though now willfully immobilised,

will never stop rustling, budding, throbbing,

tingling, pulsing, 
quivering in anticipation to

spread   open     in       flight   

one day my arms will rise again

and the white moths

will

fly

free